


Wildest Dreams

by jacksbits (fragilehuge)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (it's... pretty light. but kinda sub!kent and dom!jackbitty bc i like to mix it up apparently), Clubbing, Drunk Dancing, Flirting, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 18:10:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9283835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilehuge/pseuds/jacksbits
Summary: Maybe it’s stupid of Kent to ask if he wants to hang out. It’s not like they’re really that close anymore.But he still has to ask. He really can’t help himself.Except then Jack says,Sure, sounds like fun. I have a friend with me, too. I’ve wanted to introduce you two properly.Kent texts back,"properly" ??





	

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to [rhysiana](http://rhysiana.tumblr.com/) as always for the beta! ♥
> 
> title from a taylor swift song because... it's kent parson. obvi.

The Aces play the Falcs in Vegas, and Kent texts Jack to see if he wants to meet up after the game.

Honestly, Kent expects Jack to blow him off. They’ve texted a little over the past couple weeks—it’s Jack’s first season in the NHL, and Kent knows how overwhelming those first few months are—but Kent still doesn’t think they’re exactly friends.

When Kent first reached out to Jack over the summer with an apology and an offer of whatever support he could give— _advice or commiseration or whatever, i've been there so it's nbd_ —he was just doing what his conscience demanded of him. Kent remembers how hard it was for him at first. Obviously Jack at 25 is a lot more well-adjusted than Kent was at 19, but it’s still not an easy transition for anyone.

Kent didn’t really think Jack would want to talk to him, but he still needed to let Jack know he was there. No matter how fucked up everything had gotten, no matter what the history with someone was, some things were just a given. Supporting an old teammate in his rookie season was one of them.

To Kent’s surprise, though, once the preseason started, Jack had really taken him up on it. It wasn’t like they talked a _lot_ , but still. It was mostly mundane stuff, the occasional _How many reps do you think I should be aiming for?_ and _Congratulations, good game. Nice shot in second period_ , but it was still more than Kent expected Jack to want from him.

But texting once or twice a week isn’t the same thing as being friends, and the last time Kent saw Jack in person was still that awful party at Samwell. Even though Kent had forced himself to apologize explicitly for that when he first started talking to Jack— _what i said man, that was uncalled for. it seems like samwell was a good thing for you. sorry for being such a dick_ —the memory of that night still lingers in Kent’s memory.

So maybe it’s stupid of Kent to ask if he wants to hang out. It’s not like they’re really that close anymore.

But he still has to ask. He really can’t help himself.

Except then Jack says, _Sure, sounds like fun. I have a friend with me, too. I’ve wanted to introduce you two properly._

Kent doesn’t know what to make of that. New boyfriend, maybe? If it was a girlfriend, Jack would probably just say. But friend could mean a number of different things. He’s not sure why Jack would actually _want_ to introduce his boyfriend to his ex, but whatever. Jack’s always been kind of a mystery.

Kent texts back, _"properly" ??_

 _You did not make the best first impression. At that party._ A second later Jack adds, _I’ve more or less convinced him you’re not usually that much of an asshole._

Kent thinks back, almost remembers some kid in the hallway who’d been eavesdropping on his conversation with Jack. Kent can’t even remember what he looked like—hadn’t seemed that important at the time—but apparently Kent had been wrong to dismiss him. If the guy is close enough to Jack that he’s flying out to Vegas to see the game… Hm.

Hopefully it’s not going to be weird. If it’s the same guy, he has plenty of reasons to hate Kent for the things he said.

_yeah. normally i'm just a little bit of an asshole right?_

_Right_ , Jack replies.

Kent laughs and locks his phone. It’ll be interesting, at least. Kent is curious what kind of guy Jack has started dating.

-

The Falcs win, but just barely.

Kent is feeling magnanimous about it on the Uber over to the bar Jack suggested (some place his friend wanted to try out, apparently). The Aces have been doing well this season, and they can’t win them all. It sucks to lose, but Kent’s not ashamed of how his team played. It’s fine.

Jack played well, too. Kent is genuinely happy for him. He was so good out there on the ice—alive, vibrant, in his element. Just how he used to be. Kent hasn’t seen Jack play in person since the Juniors. He’d forgotten how good hockey looked on him.

Besides, it’s easier to be the loser in this kind of situation. If he’d won, Kent would have had to spend the whole night trying not to be an asshole about it. Now, Kent’s the one who deserves sympathy.

He doesn’t know why, but he feels weirdly determined not to prove Jack’s boyfriend’s first impression right. It’s not like it really matters, but Kent is used to being liked. And he’s not an asshole, not really, not the way he’d been that night. He’d just been so _mad_ at Jack, for leaving him, for ruining all their plans, for not being there when he’d promised he would _always_ —

Kent forces a deep breath. Everything just came out all wrong, is all. He doesn’t like the idea of someone basing their opinion of him on that moment. That wasn’t him. It wasn’t how he wanted to be.

When the cab drops him off at the bar, Kent’s heart speeds up a little, but he’s sure it’s going to be fine. He knows he’s charming. He can turn it on, can make this guy like him. He made Jack like him, all those years ago, hadn’t he? He’s Kent fucking Parson, captain of the Aces, frequently featured on BuzzFeed, widely considered to be one of the best and sexiest players in the league. Everyone likes him. So this guy will, too.

Of course, then Kent walks in the door and immediately ruins it by being an asshole.

The place is quiet, not too crowded, so Kent spots Jack instantly, standing at the bar next to this short blond guy. It’s like looking in a goddamn mirror, and Kent just starts _laughing._

He’s way too loud, and everyone in the fucking place turns to look at him. Jack frowns. The blond guy arches an eyebrow.

Kent scrubs a hand over his face. Great. It’s going super well already. But he makes himself walk over to where they’re leaning against the bar. Standing in the doorway staring at them isn’t going to make it better.

“Sorry,” Kent says, holding his hand out to the guy. “I’m Kent. I’m seriously not actually a huge douchebag.”

“Hm,” the guy says, unconvinced. “I’m Eric. My friends all call me Bitty, though.”

Kent gives him a lopsided smirk. It’s one he’s practiced in the mirror. He knows how it looks: a little bashful, a little cocky.

He says, “Nice to meet you, Eric.” That makes the guy laugh, and Kent lets the other corner of his mouth tug upward. “We’ll see what I’m calling you by the end of the night, though.”

The guy raises an eyebrow again. God, he really is cute, isn’t he? Kent usually doesn’t go for blonds, but this kid is something else. Kent’s so busy checking him out that he almost misses it when Bitty murmurs, “I guess we will, won’t we?”

Kent laughs, then smiles at Jack. “Good to see you, man.” He claps Jack on the shoulder.

Jack smiles briefly back at him, but then he gets distracted when the bartender comes over with his drinks.

“Meet you guys at a table?” Kent asks. When Jack nods, Kent turns toward the bartender and orders some IPA they have on tap. It takes a minute to get his drink and open a tab, so when he turns around Jack and Bitty are already settled in one of the booths. They’re sitting on the same side, pressed close together, Bitty on the outside edge. Kent thinks, _Boyfriends. Definitely boyfriends._

When Kent slides in across from them, Jack is frowning a little.

“What was so funny when you came in?” he asks.

Kent barks out another laugh, rolls his eyes. He says, “You have a type, Zimms.”

He doesn't really mean anything by it, but then Bitty looks at him levelly and says, “Jack has good taste, is all.”

Kent laughs again, too loud for such a relaxed place, but he’s just surprised. He flirts with everyone by nature, but he didn’t really expect Jack’s little boyfriend to flirt back. Kent is honestly not sure what he’s supposed to do. When he glances over at Jack to gauge his reaction, it doesn’t really help. Jack looks a little embarrassed, but not upset, either. Sort of… interested, like maybe he’s watching for Kent’s reaction the same way Kent is watching for his.

“I won’t argue with that,” Kent says, a beat too late, but still quickly enough that he doesn’t think it’s too obvious that he’s flustered. “So, what do you study, Eric?”

Bitty smiles at him like he noticed, anyway, but he accepts the change of subject, launching into an explanation of some paper he’s writing on early American cooking. It’s actually pretty cool, even if it is super dorky. Kent doesn’t really know anything about what Bitty is talking about, but he’s obviously really into it, and that makes it interesting. The kid’s a good speaker, too—charismatic, outgoing, fun to listen to. The opposite of Jack, obviously, but kind of like… well, a little like Kent, kind of?

It’s weird, honestly. It’s so fucking weird. Zimms has a _type._

“So you actually like all of Jack’s boring history junk, huh?” Kent asks.

Bitty looks over at Jack fondly. “Some of it,” he says. “I don’t think anyone quite likes it quite like Jack does. The nerd.”

“Hey,” says Jack, mildly. He slants a glance at Kent. “Bitty’s a nerd about some stuff. Just ask him how to make pie crust. There’s a twenty-minute lecture about it, with, like, _diagrams._ And don’t get him started on the Great Jam Debacle of 2015.”

“That’s not—it’s not _nerdy_ to care about baking. There is a right and a wrong way to make pie crust.” Bitty glares at Jack. It’s fucking adorable. Kent might be in trouble. “I am not getting into this right now, Jack Zimmermann. And I don’t appreciate your chirping. Moo Maw still won’t talk to Aunt Judy because of the jam, and it’s been months. Thanksgiving’s going to be a nightmare.”

Kent presses his lips together to keep from laughing aloud. “‘ _Moo Maw_ ’?” he asks, looking at Jack.

“His grandmother,” Jack says. “She’s kind of terrifying.”

Bitty rolls his eyes. “She loves you, I have no idea why you’re still scared of her.”

Jack shakes his head, but he looks pleased. “I just feel my position is precarious. She could change her mind about me at any point, and she has the power to bar me from all future family gatherings. Just look at Aunt Judy.”

Something aches in Kent’s chest. It has to be pretty serious, if Jack has met Bitty’s whole family. Kent’s never really had that. Most of the people he’s dated lately weren’t anything more than glorified hookups. He dated Jack the longest out of anyone, but it wasn’t like they were really telling people. Sure, Kent knows Bob and Alicia, but he wasn’t introduced to them as Jack’s _boyfriend._

Not that he knows if that’s how Jack was introduced, either. Honestly, Kent doesn’t know a single thing about Jack and Bitty’s relationship, except that they seem comfortable together. Happy.

Kent drains his beer.

“You like tequila?” Bitty asks, eying Kent’s glass.

Kent coughs out a surprised laugh, but he manages to turn it into a smirk a second later. “So it’s gonna be that kind of night, huh?”

“If you think you can handle it,” Bitty says.

Kent’s never backed down from that kind of challenge before in his life, and he’s not going to start tonight.

He says, “You have no idea what I can handle.”

Bitty stands up. “Jack?” he asks.

“I’m not getting involved in this,” Jack says. “Someone here needs to be capable of rolling you two out of the bar later.”

“I think he’s afraid,” Bitty says, voice low, looking down at Kent. With Bitty standing and Kent still in his seat, he’s taller by a couple inches.

Kent stares up into Bitty’s dark eyes, caught. “Uh-huh,” he says, swallowing. “Definitely scared.”

Then Bitty _winks_ and swaggers away. Kent watches him leave. He can’t help it.

From across the table, Jack snorts out a laugh.

“What the fuck,” Kent says. Bitty might look sweet, but he’s got kind of an edge to him, doesn’t he? This is not what Kent was expecting.

A couple minutes later, Bitty comes back holding a tray with four tequila shots, some lime wedges on a napkin, and a salt shaker. He slides in on Kent’s side of the booth, close enough that his thigh presses flush alongside Kent’s. Which, well. That’s sort of interesting, but Kent’s trying not to be an asshole tonight. He’s not going to read anything into that.

Bitty licks his hand, then salts the damp stretch of skin between his thumb and forefinger. When Kent holds his own hand out, Bitty just tips over the shaker. The salt falls softly onto Kent’s skin. Something prickles low in his gut.

“Thanks, Bitty,” Kent says, just to try it out. The corner of Bitty’s mouth twitches, so slightly that Kent wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t already been looking.

“To old friends and new ones,” Bitty says.

So maybe Kent doesn’t know what’s happening right now. That’s all right. If he knows how to do anything, it’s how to do shots.

“I’ll drink to that,” Kent says, and does.

-

A while later, Bitty’s saying, “Let’s go somewhere else, it’s too quiet here. Parse, do you know any place we can go dance?”

“Yeah,” Kent says.

They take an Uber to this club Kent likes. It’s dark and loud and completely not Jack’s speed, but Kent is beginning to think it might be Bitty’s. It is definitely Kent’s speed. He’s pulled in this club more than once before.

They’ve been inside the place for about thirty seconds when Bitty presses in close and says, “Do you want to dance with me?”

His breath is hot against the shell of Kent’s ear, and Kent has no idea what to say. He thinks he probably should have seen this coming. He honestly did not see this coming.

“Jack never wants to dance with me,” Bitty adds, almost a whine. His lips are still brushing against Kent’s ear.

Kent looks over at Jack, who kind of smirks at him like _you got yourself into this mess_ , which is completely unhelpful and frankly a little unnerving. Kent has no idea why Bitty’s flirting with him, or why Jack doesn’t seem to mind, or why Kent _likes it_ , but he’s already sort of drunk and honestly the best course of action seems to be to just go with it.

He reaches down, finds Bitty’s hand, and tugs him into the crowd.

-

Kent is still trying not to be an asshole, is the thing. It’s just dancing, and Kent likes dancing for its own sake. It doesn’t always have to be a means to an end. It’s just fun, and Kent loses himself in the music and tries not to think too much.

Every now and then, Kent’s body brushes against Bitty’s, but it's nothing that filthy, just dancing. He doesn’t mean anything by it, isn’t even really doing it on purpose, and he's danced like this with friends any number of times. It’s cool. Kent knows his place. Bitty is Jack’s boyfriend, and Kent is determined not to do anything to make Jack unhappy. Kent has already done enough of that for one lifetime, thanks.

Honestly, he’s actually starting to think he was just imagining it earlier. Did he really think Bitty was flirting with him? How cocky can he get? Just because someone is being friendly, he thinks they're—and then Bitty loops his arms around Kent's neck and pulls him in close.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Bitty is so hot.

“Okay,” Kent yells, over the music. Hopefully Bitty can hear him. “I’m really trying not to be an asshole, but what’s going on here?”

Bitty’s smile is terrifying. He leans in even closer, so Kent can hear him clearly when he says, “Never had someone flirt with you before, Kent Parson?”

What the fuck.

“Is that what’s happening right now?” Kent shouts. This is not the place he wants to have this conversation. The bass is drowning almost everything else out, and the answer is important. “What about Jack?”

Right into Kent’s ear, Bitty says, “I know you know Jack likes to watch.”

Kent turns his head—somehow he knows exactly where to look—and locks eyes with Jack. Kent actually honest-to-god fucking _shivers._ It’s so stupid. Kent can’t even really _see_ Jack—he’s just a silhouette leaning against the wall across the room, the whites of his eyes a flicker in the darkness. The light is bad enough that maybe Kent shouldn’t immediately recognize him, but he does anyway. He’d know the shape of Jack anywhere.

Earlier, Kent had pulled Bitty to the center of the floor. That’s where Kent always goes to dance: he likes to be in the middle of things, the center of the crush of bodies, invisible and anonymous. At some point, though, they’ve ended up on the edge of the crowd. Where Jack would see them.

Which means Bitty maneuvered them over here on purpose.

And the thing is, Kent _does_ know what Jack likes. It might feel like it was a million years ago, but Kent remembers everything. He’s pretty sure he could never forget the way Jack looked at him, sitting in a chair across the room, pupils blown so wide that they nearly eclipsed the blue. The way it felt to have Jack’s eyes on him, watching Kent spread himself open on the bed...

Anyway. There’s just something about having Jack’s full attention. The memory of that feeling has stuck with Kent through all these years, the heady rush of it, how Jack’s gaze could feel like a physical touch on his skin.

Kent feels it now.

Fuck.

“I need another drink,” he says.

-

Kent gets a shot of vodka and downs it at the bar, and then he gets a piña colada. Normally, Kent tries to order cooler drinks than that, but he honestly doesn’t care right now. He’s stressed out, and piña coladas always cheer him up. Besides, Kent is so far from wanting to impress anyone right now.

When Kent looks up, Jack is still watching him from across the room, but Bitty has disappeared somewhere. Kent bites his lip, and then Jack jerks his head sideways, toward the door to the smoking area out back.

All right.

Kent nods, clutches his drink, and follows Jack out the door.

When he gets outside, Jack is leaning back against the railing at the edge of the patio, typing something on his phone. Texting Bitty? Telling him where they are? There’s a beer bottle next to his foot.

Whatever. Kent crosses over to where Jack is standing, but he can’t bring himself to lean back next to him. Instead, Kent drops his elbows onto the railing and stares out into the darkness beyond. His drink hangs loosely from one hand, cool and wet, condensation beading on the outside of the glass. They’re in the middle of one of those weird unseasonable fall heat waves. It’s a warm night.

Kent doesn’t know how to feel. He’s missed Jack _so much._ He doesn’t want to fuck everything up again.

When he texted Jack earlier, he’d only done it because he wanted them to be friends again _._ He didn’t expect anything else, and now here’s Bitty, all cute and hot and _Jack’s boyfriend_ , and it’s not fair, is it? It’s not fair that Kent should have to decide if he’s willing to risk ruining things with Jack all over again. He’s not strong enough to do the right thing. He never has been.

Jack finishes with his phone, slides it into his pocket. He leans down and picks up his beer, but he just takes a sip without saying anything.

Kent’s not sure if he’s grateful for that or not. He doesn’t know what he wants to ask Jack. He has about a million questions, all threatening to spill out at once. He doesn’t know how to say, _is this just happening because Bitty’s drunk? Have you guys talked about this? How much? How do you feel about me, really? Was this the plan? Would you have texted me if I hadn’t texted you? Did you come here tonight planning to—to—_

Kent is honestly too drunk for any of those conversations.

Instead he says, “Jack?” His voice comes out so stupid, weirdly small, but he just needs—

“Yeah, Kenny?” Jack asks.

He sounds so _okay_. Normal. Kent lets out a shaky breath, and presses his elbow against Jack’s. Jack presses back.

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Kent asks, because it honestly seems like an awful one, and he still wants it so much. It seems like that means something, but Kent isn’t sure whether it’s “do it anyway” or “definitely don’t fucking do it, you idiot.”

Jack hums. Carefully, he says, “I think it would be a good time.”

Kent laughs a little. Right. That’s not really an answer to the question.

Jack slants a glance over at him, a little sly. “Bitty’s been complaining about how hot you are for about three months, you know.”

Kent kind of straightens up. That’s… interesting.

“He’s always like, ‘Oh, Jack, I want to hate him, because the things he said to you were _not okay_ , but then I think about that stupid cowlick, and I just can’t quite muster the appropriate outrage.’”

Kent laughs for real this time. “Are you serious?”

Jack smiles. “It helped that I’d already told him how you apologized and everything, and that _I_ wasn’t holding any of it against you, but basically, yeah.”

Kent sips his piña colada. He’s still kind of stuck on the fact that Bitty has apparently thought he was hot for the past three months. Or _longer._ Kent didn’t even know who Bitty was two hours ago.

Then again, plenty of people think he’s hot. He is famous, after all. It’s whatever. He shouldn’t get all hung up on that.

“So, you and him, huh?” Kent asks. “Is it serious?”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “I think so.”

Which… Well, Kent kind of expected that, but it’s still a little hard to hear.

“That’s awesome,” he says, after a moment, and actually mostly means it. “Bitty’s great.” He completely means that, at least.

“Yeah,” Jack says. Kent rubs his finger along the side of his glass, drawing a pattern in the condensation.

“Where is he?” Kent’s not sure how long it’s been, but if Bitty was in the bathroom it seems like he would have been back by now.

“I told him to give us a minute,” Jack says. “Should I tell him to come back?”

Kent sips his drink. It’s mostly melted at this point, slushy and sweet.

“Sure,” he says. “Why not?”

Jack pulls out his phone, tapping something out on the keyboard, and Kent asks, “Why’d you tell him to give us a minute?”

Jack looks a little apologetic. “I could, uh… tell you were overwhelmed.”

Something inside Kent clenches and unclenches at the same time. Jack still knows him, after all this time. Kent doesn’t know if that makes him feel good or if it makes him feel like shit.

Instead of dwelling on that, Kent says, “Okay, Zimms, first of all, I wasn’t overwhelmed _._ I was simply _confused_.”

“Sure,” Jack says easily, a little indulgent. It’s infuriating. “That’s what I meant.”

“Whoa, what the fuck,” Kent complains, standing all of the way up. He’s working up to some grade-A righteous indignation, here. “I didn’t come out here tonight expecting _my ex and his new boyfriend to hit on me._ ” Kent leans a hip on the railing, turning all the way toward Jack. He mutters, “I think that was pretty reasonable of me, frankly.”

Jack stares at him. “How’d you, uh—” He bites his lip. “How’d you feel about it when it actually happened, though?”

Kent snorts. He hasn’t been on the receiving end of Jack’s completely unsmooth attempts at flirting in a long time.

It’s… kind of nice. Takes him back.

“Confused,” Kent says, darkly. “Like I said.”

Jack’s brows pull together a little, like the beginning of a frown, so Kent adds, “Also, you know, really turned on. Whatever.”

“Hmmm,” Bitty says, right into Kent’s ear, and Kent jerks so badly he spills his drink all over his hand. “Really turned on?”

Which. Honestly, of course that was the comment that Bitty got back for. Jack is laughing at him. Kent’s life is stupid.

Kent complains, “I’m gonna be all sticky now,” which he absolutely does not mean as innuendo, and Bitty doesn’t even _say_ anything, but he levels Kent with this look that just says, _you sure are_.

 _Fuck_ , Kent thinks. Then, after a beat, _All right._

He says, “You guys staying in a hotel somewhere?”

Bitty beams at him.

“Kent Parson,” he drawls, affecting this ridiculous offended Southern belle accent. He’s touching his chest with one hand melodramatically. “Are you _hitting_ on me?”

Kent punches Bitty in the arm, hard. This kid is honestly a _menace_. Like, Kent knows he’s into it? But he’s also a little pissed off at the same time.

“Well, he’s hitting you,” Jack says, deadpan. It’s actually kind of funny until Jack ruins it by snickering into his beer.

“Ow,” Bitty says, ignoring Jack. He looks at Kent. “I’m going to get you back for that later, you know.”

He says it so casually that it makes Kent’s stomach swoop in some weird combination of nervousness and excitement _._ Bitty is probably going to make him cry tonight, and he’s probably going to like it.

“I am legitimately scared,” Kent says, as sarcastically as possible. The way Jack looks at him though, something like amused understanding in his eyes, makes Kent think he might not have been completely convincing. He narrows his eyes, but Jack just pulls out his phone and starts tapping on the screen, clearly trying to play innocent.

Kent gets distracted from glaring at Jack when Bitty steals his drink out of his hand, finishes it off, and hands it back.

“Hey,” Kent says, without heat. There wasn’t that much left, really, but still.

Bitty says, “I’ll make it up to you.”

Jack says, “I ordered an Uber.”

Kent thinks, _Fuck yeah_ , so that’s what he says.

-

Kent sits in the front seat, and Bitty and Jack sit in the back. Any other hypothetical seating combination kind of stressed Kent out, which is why he went for for the front immediately, but now Kent has to try to make polite conversation with the Uber guy. Normally that’s not a big deal, but right now Kent is _extremely aware_ of that fact that he’s on his way to a hotel to fuck his ex and his ex’s boyfriend, so it’s kind of throwing him off his small talk game.

“You guys having a good night?” the driver asks.

Kent laughs nervously. “Yep, these guys are just in town for—the night?” He looks back over his shoulder. Bitty and Jack’s knees are touching. “How long are you guys around, actually?”

“Flight leaves in the morning,” Jack says, almost apologetic. “Bitty has a game on Sunday.”

Kent isn’t disappointed or anything like that. He says, “Ahhh, of course. Right.”

“We’ll have to come back out sometime,” Bitty says. Kent does his best to keep totally still and not react at all. “I’ve never been to Vegas before this, but we didn’t really have time to do anything touristy, the trip was so short.”

That leads to a conversation about all the places their driver thinks Bitty should visit next time he’s in Vegas, which lasts them until they’re pulling up in front of the hotel. Kent’s heart starts hammering stupidly. He pulls his snapback off, runs his hands through his hair, then puts the cap back on.

“You guys enjoy the rest of your night,” the guy says, friendly, as they come to a stop. Kent tries not to laugh hysterically as he gets out of the car.

Bitty says, “You do too, now,” as he scoots out after Jack, all polite and southern and innocent, but then he stands up and looks at Kent and _winks_. Kent’s cheeks feel warm, like he’s blushing, which is totally horrifying. Hopefully he just can pass it off as a drunken flush.

Kent forces himself to walk toward the bright lights of the hotel lobby as normally as possible. He’s half-hard in his jeans already, which is so stupid, overeager, but he can’t help it _._ He’s light-headed and a little dizzy with everything that’s going on, weirdly afraid that he’s going to get upstairs and someone’s going to get mad at him for misinterpreting the situation. He can’t believe what’s happening, even though it’s obvious. Kent knows what this is. He just can’t _believe it._

Behind him, Jack laughs quietly, but Kent missed the joke. When he gets inside the lobby, he sort of stops short—not knowing where to—but then Jack is dropping a hand on his shoulder. It’s a light touch, a little squeeze. A friendly gesture, appropriate to do in public, and Jack’s hand slips off his shoulder as quickly as it landed there, but. It helps.

Kent takes a breath. He’s allowed to be here.

“Elevators,” Jack says, nodding toward the shiny silver doors.

Thankfully, there’s no one else waiting to get on, so when the elevator doors close, they’re alone. Kent leans against the wall, tips his head back. The ceiling is mirrored. He can see the reflection of the three of them, Jack and Bitty standing together, Kent a few steps away.

Jack makes a little sound, a sort of displeased _hrmm._ Bitty says, “You okay?”

“Sure, of course.” Kent honestly sounds pretty unconvincing, even to himself.

When Kent lifts his head, Bitty is smiling gently, like he’s trying to be soothing. It’s… different, an expression Kent hasn’t seen on his face yet. Bitty has mostly smirked tonight.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Bitty says. He’s totally serious, and it makes Kent kind of laugh.

He mutters, “Not worried about that.”

“Oh?” says Bitty.

Kent regrets putting himself in a situation where he has to explain that thought. Without looking at them, he manages, “’M not worried _I’ll_ change my mind. You guys might, though.”

“Oh,” says Bitty. He takes a couple of steps closer to Kent, puts a hand on the side of his face. Kent tries not to do anything embarrassing like sag into the touch. Over Bitty’s shoulder, Kent can see Jack just watching them. His eyes are a clear, focused blue.

Softly, Bitty says, “Well, I’m definitely not worried about that.”

“Okay,” Kent says. Bitty’s hand is still on his cheek. He doesn’t know when Bitty is going to move away. “All right. Good.”

Kent isn’t really sure where to look; he’s trying not to flick his gaze any lower than Bitty’s eyes.

“I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s okay,” Bitty says.

“Okay,” Kent repeats, just as Jack says, “Yeah.”

Bitty leans in and up. Kent shuts his eyes.

Bitty’s lips are soft, and the kiss is so much sweeter than he expected it to be, after the way Bitty has toyed with him tonight. But now Bitty’s body is warm and pressed lightly against his own, and nothing about this is teasing. Kent blinks open his eyes as Bitty sways forward unsteadily. He’s stretched up onto his toes, and it makes him tall enough that Kent has to tilt his head back to meet his mouth. It’s good, like that. Kent brings a hand down to Bitty’s waist to hold him steady.

The elevator dings.

Kent pulls away.

“Oh,” he says.

Bitty’s smile is blinding.

Kent blinks, turning to look at Jack, who smirks that same _you got yourself into this mess_ smirk from earlier. But this time Kent can see something like camaraderie there. Maybe that expression actually means, _yep, been there. He’s really something, eh?_

“Come on,” Bitty says, stepping back easily and heading out into the hallway.

Kent follows, and Jack is right behind him.

-

Kent gets inside the door and kind of stops, accidentally. It’s just, he’s in their hotel room. Their _suite_ , actually; it has two rooms. The weirdness, the fear, the sheer _unbelievability_ of the entire situation—suddenly it all comes rushing back.

What is he _doing?_

But then Jack bumps into his back. Kent half turns to apologize, but suddenly he’s being pressed against the wall behind the door, and Jack is rumbling, “ _Hi there_ ,” right into his ear, and—

It would be embarrassing if Kent’s only response to that was to whimper helplessly, but since Jack’s mouth follows his voice a heartbeat later, effectively swallowing whatever sounds Kent might or might not have been in the process of making, it’s not like anyone could ever prove it. So.

Anyway.

As it is, Kent tries to keep up, fisting his hands into Jack’s shirt, opening up for him when Jack deepens the kiss.

“Mmmm, that’s nice,” Bitty drawls, his voice low and close. “You like that, Kent? How Jack’s got you trapped up against the wall? He couldn’t even let you walk three steps in here.”

Kent groans, and Jack smiles against his mouth. He reaches up, wrapping his fingers around Kent’s wrists so he can pull them up and over his head, press them back against the wall.

“You still like it like this, Kenny?” he asks, in a voice that says he knows Kent does.

Kent makes another sound, shifting experimentally. Jack tightens his grip.

“You want him to let you go, you’re gonna have to ask nicely,” Bitty says. Jack drops his head to bite at Kent’s jaw, down to his neck. He slides a knee between Kent’s legs, hitching it up until Kent is bearing down on his thigh.

“No,” Kent gasps. “I don’t want, I wasn’t trying to—”

“Thought so,” Bitty says, and he’s close enough that Kent can feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over his cheek. “You just wanted to see what you could get away with, huh?”

Kent turns his head toward Bitty’s voice, because he doesn’t want to talk, he just, he _wants_ —

Somehow Bitty knows exactly what he’s asking for, and he leans up to capture Kent’s mouth in a kiss. It’s… overwhelming. Kent didn’t expect it to go like this, to have all of their attention focused on him, on _possessing_ him, on… Kent doesn’t even know. He just didn’t think he’d get this from them. Now that he has it, it’s almost too much. Jack nips at his collarbone, and Bitty sucks on his tongue, and it’s _so much_ —

Just when Kent starts to think maybe it really is too much, Bitty pulls away, and all Kent can think is, _no, wait, come back._

Bitty says, “It's about time to take this to a bedroom, doncha think?”

“Mmmm,” Jack hums, mouth on the joint of Kent’s shoulder. The sound buzzes through Kent’s skin, and he shivers at the sensation.

Then Jack takes a step back, and Kent’s knees nearly give out without Jack’s body holding him in place anymore.

Jack reaches out to steady him right away, and Kent laughs a little curse. He feels dazed and light-headed from all the attention. Jack’s hands are huge and warm on his arm, his hip. And God, Jack’s _mouth_.

Bitty takes ahold of Kent's other elbow, guiding them all forward, and Kent lets himself be led across the floor and into the bedroom of their suite.

The bed is huge, a neatly made king with fluffy white sheets. All Kent can think about is how they're going to mess it up. How much he _wants to_ mess it up.

Bitty presses up alongside Kent’s back. When Kent turns around to face him, Bitty catches his mouth in a kiss.

“What do you want?” Bitty asks. “What do you like?”

“I'm—flexible,” Kent manages. What he means is, _please do whatever you want with my body_.

“Oh, good,” Bitty says, trailing his fingers up over Kent’s arms to his shoulders. “In that case, I'm going to ride you.”

And then Bitty shoves him back onto the bed.

Kent yelps as he flies through the air, landing on his back with a little bounce. He laughs kind of helplessly. God, he is in _so_ over his head. “Fuck. Bitty.”

Bitty smiles. “That’s the idea.”

Jack snorts as he settles down on the other side of the bed, up against the headboard. His thigh is near Kent’s head.

“Don’t make fun,” Kent mutters.

“I would never,” Jack lies, but when Kent turns his head to look up at Jack’s face, he sees how wide and dark his pupils have gone. Kent takes some satisfaction in that; Jack might act cool, but he’s still affected by all of this, too.

Bitty brings one knee up onto the bed, and then the other, walking forward until he’s straddling Kent’s hips.

“Oh,” Bitty says, pleased, as he grinds down into Kent’s lap. “Aren’t you excited?”

The way he says it—indulgent, a little teasing, and so, so satisfied—makes Kent flush with a combination of embarrassment and pleasure. He can’t help it. He’s been fully hard since Jack shoved him against the wall earlier. Bitty throwing him around a second ago didn’t hurt, either.

Bitty tilts his head. “I guess I won’t have do too much to get you ready, huh?”

“N-no,” Kent gasps. Bitty puts a hand on his chest, pressing down hard, and Kent nearly groans aloud. He wants to flex up against it, to _feel_ Bitty holding him there, but... maybe Bitty wouldn’t like that. Kent keeps still.

“You’re not going to come too fast, though. Right, sugar?”

“I, I—no,” Kent says. “I’ll be good, just—please—” And then his face goes hot, hearing what he’s said. _Shit_ , Kent hadn’t meant to—

But Bitty just smiles wickedly. “Listen to that, Jack,” he murmurs. “He says he’s gonna be good.”

Jack rumbles out a pleased sort of sound that reverberates all through Kent’s body.

“Well,” Jack says, looking him over. “He’s certainly gonna try.”

Kent shudders hard. He doesn’t know what to do. It’s just… he didn’t _expect_ this. They’re not making fun of him. They don’t mind that he’s like this. Kent can’t believe it’s happening. He feels so turned on he could cry, and he doesn’t _want_ to come yet, but Bitty keeps absently grinding down against him, even though he said he didn’t want Kent to come too quickly, even though Kent _still has to fuck him later_ , and it’s too much. It’s definitely way too much.

But then Bitty sits all the way up up on his knees, and suddenly the pressure against Kent’s cock is gone. _God._ He’d been so close. Another couple of seconds... Kent lets out a shaky breath.

Bitty pops the button on his jeans.

“Take off your shirt, Kent,” he says. “And your pants.”

Kent scrambles to comply, not wanting to miss a second of Bitty undressing. As he pulls his shirt over his head, he hears Bitty say, “Would you go find the lube and a condom, honey?” Jack stands up with a hum of agreement, going to rifle through one of the bags on the floor.

Kent kicks his pants off next, watching hungrily as Bitty unzips his fly, pushing his jeans and his briefs down together. When his cock springs free, all Kent wants to do is lean up and take it into his mouth, but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed.

Somehow Bitty manages to gracefully slide one leg out of his jeans, shift his weight, and slide out of the other side, which intimidates Kent more than anything else Bitty has done that night. Kent’s sure he would have fallen on his ass if he’d tried that move, but Bitty didn’t just make it look easy, he made it look _sexy._

Then again, Kent thinks pretty much everything Bitty does is sexy, so maybe it’s not too surprising.

“Now, Kent,” Bitty says, in practically a purr. “How are you with your hands?”

Kent blinks, trying, “Um, good?”

“Good,” Bitty says, smiling down at him. Oh god, does he want Kent to get him _ready?_

Still on his knees, Bitty shuffles forward until he’s straddling Kent’s chest. He reaches a hand out toward Jack, accepting the lube with a murmured, “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Then Bitty looks back at Kent. He drops the condom on Kent’s chest, then flips open the cap on the lube.

Kent swallows.

“Give me your hand, sugar,” Bitty says, and Kent lifts it tentatively, still not quite sure he’s understanding correctly—but then Bitty drips lube over Kent’s first two fingers, and there’s no mistaking what he wants. Oh, _god_. Bitty snaps the bottle shut with a little click, tossing it back to Jack, who catches it easily. Kent spreads the slickness over his fingers with his thumb. It’s good quality lube, not sticky at all.

And Kent knows he’s definitely—hesitating a little. He knows what he’s supposed to do next, with lube all over his fingers and Bitty naked and kneeling over him, but somehow Kent can’t quite bring himself to actually—he should just do it. Bitty is probably going to get impatient, annoyed with waiting, and anyway, it’s ridiculous to worry he’s unwanted right now. Bitty clearly wants him to, Kent should just...

Then Bitty purrs, “Need a little help, baby?” He smiles down at Kent, and he doesn’t look impatient at all. He grasps Kent’s wrist gently, pulling his hand around one side of his body, trailing Kent’s fingers over and down until they’re just where he wants them.

“Oh my god,” Kent says, rubbing lightly against Bitty’s entrance. He can’t believe this. He can’t _believe_ this—

“I’ve got you.” Bitty’s fingers are still wrapped around Kent’s wrist, holding him there. “Come on, Kent. Fuck me.”

Kent whimpers as he presses inside. Bitty’s body is incredible, tight and slick around him, and he wants Kent to do this. Jack makes a noise, a rumble of appreciation, maybe. When Kent turns his head, he sees that Jack has his pants undone, a loose fist wrapped around himself. He’s rubbing his thumb over his cock absently, just watching them more than anything else, and it’s…

Kent has to shut his eyes before he can turn his head away.

But he has to look away. It’s not time to look at Jack right now. Kent wants to focus on Bitty, on making him feel good, on deserving everything that Bitty is giving him tonight. So Kent presses his fingers up slowly, gently, just barely curling them forward, searching, until Bitty’s grip suddenly loosens on his wrist.

“Oh,” Bitty says, shifting slightly, like he’s not quite sure where to go. “Oh, _Kent_.”

Kent finds himself smiling. He likes doing this—likes using his body to make someone else feel good. There’s just something so straightforward about sex. Kent might not be able to say the right thing most of the time, but he can reliably find a guy’s prostate, and that at least makes him good for something, right?

Bitty shifts again, more purposefully, dropping Kent’s wrist entirely so he can brace both hands on the headboard. Kent pulls his fingers out almost all the way, and when he presses in again, Bitty bears down on his hand. He’s totally gorgeous like this, unbelievably hot, breathing heavily, a pink flush spreading over his chest. Kent is transfixed by the way Bitty’s cock bobs in front of his face—close, but not close enough. If Bitty just shuffled forward a little, he could fuck Kent’s mouth...

But that’s not what they’re doing tonight, Kent tells himself. Bitty already decided. Though maybe they could do that next time?

The thought comes automatically, and Kent’s heart clenches painfully when he realizes how stupid it is. They’re not going to want him again. It’s crazy they want him now. Kent should just accept what he’s being given, shouldn’t get greedy, shouldn’t want more than—

There’s a hand suddenly on Kent’s cheek. Then Jack’s voice, cutting through everything: “Kenny?”

Kent blinks open his eyes—when did he shut them?—and sees Jack above him, leaning over to look down into his face. Above him, Bitty half-stills, looking over at Jack and then down to Kent.

“Nnn, what’s—?” Bitty asks. His eyes are hazy; it seems to take him a lot of effort to focus. Kent’s fingers are still inside him.

“Are you okay?” Jack asks.

Kent doesn’t know what to say. He’s too far gone for this conversation. If he only gets to do one thing, he obviously wants to fuck Bitty. That’s just… everything else is secondary. It was greedy to want something else, too. It’s not a big deal.

“Kent?” Bitty asks.

“Ah, I, nothing,” Kent forces out. “Just, for a second, I thought about—y’know, what if you fucked my mouth?”

“Oh,” Bitty gasps, rolling his hips. “There’s an idea.”

“No, it’s—I don’t—” Kent’s pulls his fingers out, dropping his arm almost involuntarily. His throat feels tight. Already, he’s ruining this with his big mouth _._ “We can’t do both, and I’d rather—ah, fuck, unless you—shit, I mean, whatever you wanna—”

“Oh, hmm,” Bitty says. “We can’t do both?” He sinks lower, spreading his knees until he’s just resting on Kent’s body. “Well,” he says. “I definitely want you to fuck me. Hmm. Jack, you really think we can’t do both?”

Kent’s heart leaps; he turns his head, because maybe Jack will say he can have—but Jack is frowning.

“You’re never interested in getting fucked after you come,” Jack says. “And you’re not going to last long enough to stay hard for both.”

Bitty makes a frustrated sound. “Ugh. I know you’re right.” He wriggles backwards a little, until his ass bumps against Kent’s erection. Even through the fabric of his underwear, the sensation is intense. Kent’s hips twitch up involuntarily. _God_ , but he does really want to fuck Bitty tonight. He can’t believe he got distracted with thoughts of something else.

“Mmm,” Bitty purrs, reaching behind himself to rub Kent through his briefs. “Excited, huh?”

“Sure looks like it,” Jack says. Their voices are both so low and warm that Kent can almost stop thinking about the fact that he won’t get to do this again.

“Ahh, fuck—” Kent gasps as Bitty reaches into his underwear, grazing his fingers over his cock. “I want—I want you so much.”

Bitty grins. “Well, good,” he says. “I guess I can wait to fuck your mouth, then.”

Something inside Kent freezes. “Wait?”

Incomprehensibly, Bitty says, “For morning, I was thinking, if you felt like it? Or, I dunno. Maybe later tonight. What time is it?”

“It’s kinda late,” Jack says. “Though with your refractory period...”

Kent jerks his head back to look at Jack. “What?”

Jack smiles. “Bitty is still lithe and young, unlike the rest of us here. I swear, sometimes he can go again in ten minutes.”

“He’s exaggerating!” Bitty slaps Jack’s thigh lightly. “That’s an exaggeration. I need fifteen minutes, at least.”

Jack snorts. “Oh, to be young again.”

Kent blinks. “You want to… again?”

Bitty and Jack both turn to stare at him. Bitty looks a bit bewildered. “Don’t you?”

“I—sure,” Kent stutters, but Bitty’s brows crease slightly, he looks _disappointed,_ so Kent hurries to add, “I mean, yes, a lot but. I just didn’t. Expect. You to.”

Bitty’s expression softens. “Oh, Kent.”

Jack reaches down to stroke Kent’s hair, just the way he used to, and Kent has to shut his eyes briefly. “Sorry,” Jack murmurs. He exhales, frustrated. “I should’ve—we—well, I mean, I—Uh. I.”

Bitty hums a little, touching Jack’s leg gently, and Jack quiets. “We don’t really know what we’re doing, Kent. But it’s not like we’re kicking you out of bed out once we’re done with you, okay?”

Kent looks into Bitty’s face, watches him bite his lip. Kent manages to say, “Okay.”

“Okay.” Bitty nods, almost to himself. “Okay. Can I kiss you?”

“Okay,” Kent says, and so Bitty leans down and presses their mouths together. Jack’s hand is still in Kent’s hair, scratching into his scalp.

“Yeah,” Jack says, voice low, after a little while. “Just like that.” In Kent’s peripheral vision, he can see Jack’s arm moving as he fists himself with his other hand.

It’s... sort of amazing, knowing that Jack is getting off on watching Kent make out with his boyfriend. Kent shifts upwards, looking for friction against Bitty’s body, and Bitty hums happily, pressing Kent down with his hips. His hand comes up to cup Kent’s jaw, stroking down over Kent’s throat, down his chest, down into the waistband of Kent’s briefs.

“Can we take these off?” he murmurs.

Kent has to giggle. “Yes,” he says. “Okay.” As he reaches down, Bitty sits up just enough for Kent to lift his hips and shuffle out of them. He passes Kent the condom, too, waiting for him to roll it on.

When Kent’s done, Bitty smiles. “That’s perfect.”

Then he shifts forward so that he’s resting his forearm completely across Kent’s chest.

Bitty tilts his head as Kent gasps. “This okay?”

Kent just nods. He can breathe, but something about the pressure of Bitty’s weight makes his heart stutter in his chest. He doesn’t want Bitty to stop. He doesn’t want any of it to stop.

With his other hand, Bitty reaches back and takes Kent’s cock in his hand, guiding it to ass, rubbing it over his entrance. It’s the best kind of torture, slippery and teasing, and Kent whines, twitching helplessly beneath Bitty’s weight.

Jack laughs low in his throat. “You wanna fuck him, Kenny?”

“Yes,” Kent gasps. “Please, _Bitty_ —you feel so—I can’t—”

Bitty grins. “You think I should, Jack? He’s asking so nicely.”

Jack hums. “I think he can ask nicer.”

Kent groans. Jack’s gonna make him beg, but somehow he doesn’t mind it. “Please,” Kent whines. “Let me fuck you, please, fuck, oh god, _please_.”

“All right, Kent,” Bitty murmurs. “Since you asked so nicely.” Then bears down on Kent’s cock until it slips inside.

Kent groans again, his hips jerking up so hard that Bitty bounces on top of him.

“Oh!” Bitty says, laughing. “Mmm, yes, do that again.”

Kent hadn’t done it on purpose before, but he can listen to directions just fine. He puts his hands on Bitty’s waist to hold him steady while he fucks up into him.

Jack groans appreciatively at the sight. Kent can tell that he’s getting close from the sound of his voice. After a few moments, though, Kent is mostly just thankful for his workout routine. Bitty is a small guy, but he’s densely built, and before long Kent is panting from the exertion.

Well, maybe not just from the exertion.

The effort is worth it for the way Bitty is gasping on top of him him, though. He’s lost his cool from earlier, and now he’s completely collapsed against Kent’s chest, his face shoved against his neck, his fingers clenching reflexively into the sheets. He’s making little noises against Kent’s skin, soft and uninhibited, and it’s unbelievable that Kent is the one who gets to take him apart like this.

“Ah, fuck,” Kent manages. “I’m—Bitty, I’m close, I’m, I’m—”

“Bits,” Jack gasps. “Come on, Bits, touch yourself. Kent’s gonna come.”

Bitty chokes out noise, pushing himself halfway up with one arm so he can get his other hand between his and Kent’s bodies. Kent can feel Bitty’s knuckles bumping against his stomach as he touches himself.

“Come on,” Kent says. “Bitty, come on.” He’s determined to hold on at least as long as Bitty does. He can hold on at least that long.

Kent is focusing so much on the sounds Bitty is making that it takes him by surprise when Jack grunts sharply. It’s a familiar noise, and Kent and Bitty both turn to look as Jack comes over his hand.

“Oh, fuck,” Bitty gasps. “Jesus, Jack, I’m gonna—”

Kent tightens his fingers on Bitty’s waist, willing him over the edge with one last burst of effort. He’s rewarded with Bitty’s broken gasp a moment later, and then Kent’s coming too, squeezing his eyes shut under the force of the sensation.

Then he collapses, utterly exhausted.

“Wow,” Kent manages, after a while. Bitty laughs weakly from where he’s lying bonelessly on top of him.

Jack slides down the bed until he’s curled beside them. He throws and arm and a leg over Bitty’s body. His other knee presses into Kent’s thigh.

Kent’s heart thumps in his chest, watching as Jack runs his hand lightly over Bitty’s back. It feels like something too intimate for him to see, something that should be just between the two of them, but Bitty said they weren’t going to make him leave right afterward, and being trapped underneath both of their bodies is sort of the opposite of getting kicked out of bed. So. It’s probably okay. Kent lets their warm weight settle him down. They want him here.

Mildly, Jack says, “Well, that was fun.”

Kent snorts, turning his head to look at Jack. His face is so close to Kent’s, just on the far edge of the pillow. Kent could probably lean over and kiss him without even dislodging Bitty.

“Yeah?” Kent asks. “You think so?”

Jack affects an innocent expression. “Yes,” he says. “See, Kenny? I told you this would be a good time.”

Something about the way he says it sets Kent off. He bursts out laughing, his whole body shaking with the force of it. Bitty has to clutch at his shoulders just to stay on top of him.

“ _Kent!_ ” Bitty gasps, but he’s giggling too. “What in the world!”

Kent is laughing too hard to explain, and he doesn’t think he could do it, anyway. It’s just—it _was_ fun, wasn’t it, and it’s okay, and he’s supposed to be here, and Jack’s face is _so close._

“He’s laughing because I’m funny,” Jack says. Bitty thumps him soundly on the shoulder. Kent’s stomach hurts from laughing _._

“You’re impossible,” Bitty mutters. “You’re both just impossible.”

This seems unfair to Kent—what’d _he_ do, to get called impossible?—but he can’t seem to gather enough breath to complain.

It’s okay, anyway. Something inside him warms to be included in Bitty’s complaint. There are worst people to get lumped in with than Jack.

When he finally calms down, all Kent says is, “You don’t mind. That we’re impossible, I mean.”

Bitty hums as he considers that. “No,” he says, finally. “You’re right. I don’t really.”

Jack laughs, one short _hah!_ sound. He says, “Well, that’s good.”

“Yeah, really,” Kent adds, but he’s smiling, and he reaches down to find Bitty’s hand to squeeze.

Bitty squeezes back.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://jacksbits.tumblr.com/)! :)


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